


half alive, i dive (my wings aren't working)

by Spencer_Grey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anti Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Hurt Adam Milligan, Kinda, M/M, POV Adam Milligan, Post-Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't in Heaven, Torture, he's not important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer_Grey/pseuds/Spencer_Grey
Summary: In punishment for not siding with his father, Adam and Michael are ripped apart. Now, with only those who left him to rot in the Cage, Adam must trust his "family" to reunite him and his angel, all the while as the scars from the Cage return.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	half alive, i dive (my wings aren't working)

**Author's Note:**

> Have I actually seen 15x08? No.  
> Am I in love with Adam and Michael's relationship? Yes.   
> So if there's any inconsistencies or out of character moments, it's because I've only consumed tumblr and ao3 content about them. I wanted to write their relationship but also hurt Adam so this is a nice middle ground.  
> Enjoy!

Adam’s going to college. It’s an easy decision, one that Michael doesn’t quite understand but supports nonetheless. Even with his  _ extremely  _ limited knowledge of humans, the way Adam’s eyes light up when talking about his dreams from what feels like a lifetime ago, the passion is undeniable. 

Pre med, to Michael, seems useless — his grace can heal people from the brink of death. And yet, Adam refuses, determined to learn the mundane way. 

It takes a few bugs to sort out. Most importantly, Adam Milligan is legally dead. Michael makes sure that people won’t be asking questions as a dead man applies to their college, all the forms are filled, all the courses he wants select him. 

Adam calls it cheating. Michael calls it evening the playing field. 

“Ten years is a long time to readjust to. The world moved on without you.” 

“Thanks for that reminder, love.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Adam sighs. He looks around his dorm room, it’s small and the walls are thin but he doesn’t mind. He wants the real college experience — whatever that means — and is sure to ignore any protests from Michael. 

“Why shouldn’t you take advantage of my abilities?” Michael continues. “It’s what I’m here for.” 

“You’re here because I want you around. Not so I can magically pass all my classes.” 

“Well, whenever you need something, I will get it for you.” 

“Right now, all I want is some decent coffee.” 

Michael jumps them just outside Adam’s newly found favourite café on campus — any onlookers just so happening to be looking elsewhere. Michael can see the appeal, the small store emitting a cozy atmosphere, the hum of machines almost drowned out by the calm, soft music playing from the speakers above. It’s filled to the brim with students, laptops and textbooks covering every surface. 

Michael is content to watch on, making sure the day-old bank account he created for Adam is always filled. Really, he still can’t grapple with the fact that Adam won’t use Michael’s powers to the full extent. 

Life could be made easy for them both. And yet, Adam still shoots Michael a look when he finds a credit card in his wallet. 

He orders a black coffee only to pour a disgustingly unhealthy amount of sugar into it. 

“What? I’m taking advantage of your abilities, like you wanted,” Adam says smugly. 

Michael doesn’t respond, giving him a sly grin. Once happy with his drink, they leave, wandering through campus. The afternoon sun beams down on them, its warmth diluted by a gentle breeze that carries scattered leaves. Uncaring passersby ignore Adam, the slight skip in his step, the permanent fixture of a smile. 

It’s almost sickeningly human. And Adam is in love with all of it. 

“It’s the little things, Michael,” Adam says. He goes to take a sip of the too hot coffee, without even thinking Michael cools it — a flick of his power naturally keeping Adam from any kind of pain. “The world sucks ass, so you gotta take what you can get.” 

“Romanticising everything doesn’t negate the cruel reality.” 

“Yeah, no shit, but what else can you do?” 

When Michael doesn’t respond, Adam turns to look at him completely as they walk. His tone holds no bite, his eyes no malice. If it were anyone else talking to him like this, Michael would be contemplating smiting them — demanding the respect he deserves. 

But with Adam, all Michael feels is a sense of endearment. That some small human, a child compared to himself, can look at him without an ounce of fear, like they’re equals.

Adam takes another drink. “Before classes start, can we go to Latvia? There’s a museum there I wanna check out.” 

“That’s a strange place to go,” Michael says, already taking control of their body. A glow of icy blue crosses their eyes. 

Adam shrugs. “We’ve been everywhere in the country, might as well start venturing out more.” 

“It’ll be fun. You and me, exploring the world.” 

“ _ Fun _ ? Who are you and what have you done with my angel?” 

Michael laughs, Adam’s teasing grin making his grace dance — a heart fluttering if his was beating. 

With a flap of his wings, Michael takes them to the museum Adam is envisioning. 

Instead, they land in a cemetery. In  _ the _ cemetery. 

“Michael?” Adam’s voice shakes slightly, instinctive fear rising as they take in the sight. “Why are we here?” 

He doesn’t respond, trying to take them away. Every tug on his grace proves useless. 

“I didn’t do this,” Michael says. He throws his grace out like a net, waiting to be alerted to any danger. He turns up empty. “I don’t understand.”

“I can explain,” comes a voice. 

Michael doesn’t have to look, feeling the wave of power that constantly emits from his father. 

Adam looks between God and Michael, not needing to ask who the stranger is. “Michael?” 

God’s attention snaps onto Adam, intense eyes seemingly seeing through him. “Hello, Adam, nice to see you.”

Quietly, he says, “He can see me?”

Michael takes a step forward, gaze never leaving his father, shielding what should be an invisible Adam with his body. 

An eternity of muscle memory telling him to stop, to show respect and devotion, but Adam’s fingers brushing across his wrist stop him. Reminding him. 

“What do you want?” Michael asks, forcing his voice to remain steady. 

His father’s face remains neutral, casual as he matches Michael’s step. His hands are clasped behind his back, and if anyone else were to see him, they’d see a simple human. 

“Is that any way to talk to your old man?” God asks, laughing to himself slightly before realising he’s the only one to find it funny. “I have to say, Michael, I’m a little hurt you didn’t come straight to me. After all, I am the one that released you from Hell.” 

“You’re the one that let me  _ rot  _ in there,” Michael corrects sharply. “You left me.” 

“Come on, Michael, what’s a decade compared to the millennia you spent with me?”

“You know it was longer than that.” His voice is weak, like a child crying to their parent. 

More emotions than he’s felt in his entire existence threaten to suffocate him. Bitterness, anger, betrayal, waves crashing over top of him, dragging him under. 

Adam’s hand wraps around his shoulder, body pressed against him. He says nothing, but his presence is enough to ground Michael. 

God watches the interaction, curiosity flashing behind his otherwise dead eyes. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting  _ that _ .”

“What do you want?” Michael repeats. 

“You. You’re my greatest weapon, Michael, and I need your help.” His father takes another step closer, starting to invade his space. 

His power grows, darkening the world around them, making himself seem bigger, stronger than Michael. Superior. 

Adam’s breath is warm and rushed on Michael’s neck, daggers of fear streaming through the young human. 

“No,” Michael says, surprising everyone. 

“No?” God scoffs. “You can't say no to me.” 

“ _ You lied to me _ . I won’t fight for you anymore.” 

Undiluted rage possesses God’s face, making Michael — the fierce, powerful warrior —  _ flinch _ . Power and wrath radiate from the eternal being, arrogance and entitlement hissing back at being denied. 

“You forget your place. You would be  _ nothing  _ without me. I never should have released you from Hell, where I left you. Where I  _ forgot  _ about you.”

Michael lets the words wash over him. He won’t let his father see how deep he’s been cut. He leans back against Adam, desperately searching for any grace left to get them out of this. 

His father continues, “Ever since I left you in this insignificant vessel, you’ve just become another one of my mistakes.” 

“Father, please,” Michael says weakly, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

“You know what? I’m tired of these Winchesters ruining all my fun.” 

Before Michael can respond, his father snaps his fingers, his face as cold and uncaring as can be. 

It happens all too quickly. 

A scream tears through his — their —throat. Burning hot pain snakes through their body, twisting and coiling, turning blood into fire, bone into molten rock. Hotter than Hell, than the Cage. 

Someone cries out, a gut wrenching, “ _ Please, no _ ,” fills the air. Was it Michael or Adam? Neither can remember anymore. 

Arms and wings wrap around their shared body. Feathers catch and burn to a crisp. Muscle and skin seem to melt. 

In that spot where their souls meet like a vice grip, a refusal to let go of each other, where they start and end and combine, there’s a tight  _ pull _ . And despite the fire suffocating them, the pull is cold, freezing ice flooding through their veins now. 

“Father, please.” Michael’s scared. He’s fucking terrified and that snaps Adam to attention long enough to realise what’s happening. 

Neuron by neuron, cell by cell they’re being torn apart. Consciousness ripped from body. 

_ He’s all I have _ . Adam can’t tell whether he cried out or thought it.  _ Don’t take him.  _

He grabs onto Michael, the comfortable warmth that’s embraced him for centuries, his archangel, the only man he’s ever loved. He holds onto Michael and he  _ won’t  _ let go. 

Not even God can keep them apart. He can’t. 

_ Please, you can’t.  _

Adam screams a final scream. Pleads a final plea. 

Michael is gone and Adam drifts into the embrace of oblivion. 

—

Blinking to consciousness, Adam shoots upright, recognising without thought the lack of Michael. Memories smack him in the face. God and the pain and his angel slipping from his fingertips. 

“Adam?” a voice comes. 

His head snaps to the side, his surroundings finally coming into focus. 

Sam sits on the edge of some bed Adam’s been laid on. His calloused hands twitch in his lap, wanting to reach out but seemingly too afraid to. 

Adam pushes himself up against the headboard, getting as far away from the hunter as he can. Chest rising and falling rapidly, Adam scans the room — maybe, just  _ maybe  _ somehow Micheal would be at his side. 

Instead, he finds Dean standing a tense few feet away. Cas is nearer, hovering nearby ready to step in. Adam relaxes just a slight amount at the angel. Michael trusts Castiel more than the Winchesters, and Adam does as well. 

Next to Cas stands some kid, looking nowhere older than Adam does. But somehow, maybe some grace left over from Michael, he gets the sense that the kid is more than he lets on. 

Then he remembers. The nephilim. 

Great.

“Adam, hey,” Sam says, drawing his attention. “Or Michael. Are you okay? Do you know what happened?” 

Adam doesn’t answer. He can’t think over the hollowness in his chest, a piece of his body missing. Overwhelmingly empty, Adam feels raw panic sneak into his gut. 

Michael’s gone. He’s  _ gone _ . 

Centuries spent together and he’s just vanished. Like he was never there. But he is — was? — apart of Adam. 

Adam looks around. He’s in the bunker. He fucking  _ hates _ the bunker, the pressure of the earth above him feels too much like the Cage. He’s cold and empty and  _ scared _ — 

“Hey, come on. Adam, you’re okay, just breathe.” Sam’s voice barely breaks through. “You’re okay.”

“No.” Adam shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his body, wishing it was Micheal. His warmth. His wings. “No, I’m not. I’m not. I—”

“Deep breaths,” Sam instructs. After giving him a moment — ignoring the other pairs of eyes glued to him — Adam collects him enough for Sam to continue. “Adam, you with us?”

“How’d I — how did I get here?” he asks, finally meeting Sam’s intense gaze. 

“Uh, we’re not sure. You kinda just… appeared — ” Sam gives a breathy, awkward chuckle “— in the war room. Do you remember anything?” 

Adam, struck with the grateful feeling that It’s Sam, rather than Dean, talking to him. Sam has a way of keeping Adam where he is, where Dean would’ve sent Adam running. Running for Michael, wherever he may be. 

If he’s still on Earth. 

No, no,  _ no _ . He has to be. Adam won’t think otherwise. 

Forcing himself to focus on Sam, Adam says, “God, he — he found us. He took him. He took Michael. I don’t—” he sucks in a breath “— I don't know where he is.” 

“God?” Cas takes a step forward. “What do you mean, he took Michael?” 

“What do you think that means?” Adam snaps. “He’s  _ gone _ . He’s not… with me anymore.” 

“So, he’s dead?” Dean speaks up, arms crossed with an infuriating blank look on his face. 

Adam forgot just how pissed off his  _ brothers _ make him feel — instinctively looking to where Michael would be standing, an insult or offhand comment from his lips to ease Adam’s tension. 

Before Adam could say anything back, Cas says, “God wouldn’t kill his most faithful follower. Michael’s too powerful to throw away.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

Even the nephilim casts Dean a glare. 

“He’s alive,” Adam says, “he has to be.” 

“What would Chuck even want with you?” Sam asks, moving his head just enough that Adam’s view of Dean becomes obscured. 

Adam’s tempted to simply leave, right here and now, not bother with the persistent questions and wary gazes. Like he said, family sucks. Anyway, why should Adam be sitting here, under thinly veiled scrutiny, when Michael is out there? Alone. In danger. 

_ Yes,  _ h e’s an archangel but Adam is his guide. Michael’s, to put it lightly, struggle in understanding humans means he needs Adam. 

They need each other. 

Adam needs the calm, logical voice in his head to help him through this. What to do. Where to go. 

Trying to think as Michael does, Adam figures — as much as he hates it — the Winchester’s and all their resources and knowledge should have some idea where to start on retrieving his angel. They owe him that much. 

“He sent Lilith to get Michael but he, uh, he killed her. He, God’s pissed off cause Michael won’t fight for him.”

Brushing past the whole killing the mother of demons part, Sam says, “So, this is punishment. Now what?” 

Cas suggests, “Maybe he thinks this will make Michael to fight for him.” 

Adam scoffs. “Michael hates him. After everything God’s done, Michael won’t ever forgive him.” 

“Guess we’ll just take your word on that,” Dean mutters. 

“We just need to find Michael before Chuck does.” Jack’s earnest eyes almost distract Adam from thinking, in disturbingly vivid detail, what would happen if he didn’t get to Michael first. 

Almost. 

From the memories Cas showed them, Adam knows that there’s nothing God wouldn’t do to get what he wants. He’d tear Michael apart and put him back together to get his loyal soldier back. 

“Where do we even start?” Sam stands, letting Adam get to his feet. 

His legs feel weaker, his chest hollow without Michael’s grace, but he clenches his jaw, refusing to show an ounce of weakness. 

“I know where he’ll go,” he says. “Cas” — he turns to the angel, uncomfortably noticing the strange connection they share, family of forced family — “can you take me?” 

Before Cas can even open his mouth to respond, the nephilim steps forward. Adam eyes him up and down, feeling a wide flurry of conflicting emotions all rush by too quickly to make out. Any other circumstances, and Adam would’ve cared that  _ this _ is their first meeting. 

“I will,” Jack says. “I wanna meet Michael.” 

“Don’t worry, he’s nicer than the one you met.” A shiver goes down Adam’s spine at the memories of the other universe Michael that were shoved into his head — the cruel, unflinching beast that’s completely unrecognisable from his Michael. 

“I hope so.” 

“Well, there’s no time to waste.” Adam crosses the room and joins Jack’s side — his warm hand coming to rest on his twice-uncle’s shoulder. 

Looking the kid directly in the eyes, Adam is struck with how similar they are. Jack doesn’t seem to be any older than himself, his face still soft, kind despite the sharp edges the nephilim must hold. 

Jack looks back at him without any sign that he’s thinking the same about Adam. 

“Okay, just think about where you want to go,” Jack says. 

“I know how it works.” Adam ignores the gazes of the Winchester’s and angel, ignores the weight of the cold, damp earth that’s pressing down on him, and thinks back to the first time in centuries he’d felt at peace. 

( _ The almost blinding shine of natural sunlight welcomed Adam and Michael, a rush of air sweeps through his hair and Adam almost cries.  _

_ “What do we do now?” he asks.  _

_ He stands next to Michael, who’s taken control for their journey out of Hell, eyes scanning back and forth over the cemetery they’d arrived in. Exactly where they’d fallen into the Cage all those years ago.  _

_ A million thoughts pass through Michael’s mind, none that Adam feels he needs to focus on. One of the many things he’s learned about the archangel through their time is that he takes his time to process things. This is no different.  _

_ “Anything you want,” Michael answers.  _

_ Which is how they appear outside a small diner in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, Minnesota.  _

_ Michael looks to Adam, seeing in his mind this is where he and his mom sometimes went to. When she had time off work, that is.  _

_ The rest is known.)  _

There’s nowhere on Earth that Michael would go. 

Adam still isn’t quite used to angel travel — even despite the copious times he and Michael have ventured out in their short amount of time together — and squeezes his eyes shut. The ground is yanked from under him, his stomach doing flips. And he quickly realises Jack is vastly less experienced at this than Michael. 

Just another reason to make that painful ache in his chest grow. 

Adam can see the diner in his mind. Can see the very booth they sat at. He  _ knows _ Michael will be waiting for him there. They’re so close. So fucking close and — 

Adam falls to his knees. Palms slam against cold, hard concrete. The stinging pain is nothing compared to the twisting, burning sensation travelling up his body. Like someone reached down his throat, pulling him inside out. 

Crimson bile pours out his mouth. He can scarcely breathe between gags, dragging air into his lungs feels more like a dozen daggers stabbing him. 

Finally, he coughs one last time, spitting the last of the liquid contents from his mouth. 

Slowly, Adam drags himself to his feet, finding a steady hand to help him up. Sam doesn’t let go for a moment, eyeing Adam with concern. 

“The fuck?” Adam mutters, wiping his mouth. 

He finds Jack, seeing a trail of dark blood slip from his nose. 

“I don’t know what happened,” the nephilim says, breathless and a sliver of panic in his voice. 

Cas stands with a hand on his son’s shoulder, nervously looking between Jack and Sam. “Could Chuck be doing something to interfere?” 

“Why? Why does he even care about what we do?” Adam asks. 

“It’s like Chuck said,” Dean speaks up, reminding Adam that he’s there. “As long as it makes a good story, he’ll do whatever he wants.” 

“What now?” Jack asks. 

“Well—” Sam looks between the group — “there's always the normal way.” 

—

The “normal way” didn’t exactly warn Adam about what Sam has in mind. Certainly not what he was thinking — ditching them all and hitchhiking his way to Minnesota. 

Instead, Adam sits in the back of the impala, body pressed tight against Jack’s, even as the nephilim tries his best to take up as little room as possible. The barren highway speeding by them starts to darken as the sun begins to descend. 

Cas, on the other side of Jack, in his defence, is at least trying. 

To do what, Adam isn't sure. Maybe this is a kind of apology. Michael’s still pissed that they trapped them in holy fire and put damn manacles on them. But whatever his aim is, Cas is  _ trying _ . 

Granted, he’s asking  _ a lot _ of questions about their bond — Cas’ words — which Adam would rather not discuss in front of his brothers. 

Adam sits directly behind Dean, so he can’t see the older brother's reaction but Sam very not discreetly glances to Adam every time he hesitates on an answer. 

“So,” Cas draws the word out, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “do you and Michael have any plans now that you’re, y’know, free?” 

A sign passes by — they’re almost out of Kansas. Only, what, eight more hours until Minnesota. He might not make it that long without Michael. His entire body is covered in goosebumps, a cold only his archangel’s warmth can fix. 

He was hoping Michael would’ve found him by now. But he’s starting to realise it’s pointless. If God can stop Jack from reaching Michael, then who knows what he’s done to the angel. 

Adam sighs. “I’m supposed to be having my first day at college.” 

Sam twists around to properly face him, a mixture of shock and support in his expression. “Really? Still doing pre-med?”

Taken aback that Sam even remembered such a minuscule detail from ten years ago, Adam has to take a moment before he can answer. “Yeah, I, uh, want to make my mom proud.” 

Adam shouldn’t be as smug about the flash of hurt that passes over Sam’s face as he is. He won’t deny the lingering grudge against the Winchester’s wins sometimes — and he knows for a fact neither brother would have remembered that Adam lost his mom, too.

“Aren’t you dead?” Dean’s flat eyes meet Adam’s through the rear view mirror, his voice as monotone as ever. 

“Michael took care of it. I — we were actually looking forward to going.” 

Jack laughs. “I can’t imagine Michael doing… whatever you do at college.” 

“Chicks and booze, mostly,” Dean says. 

“Dude, you’ve never even been to college.” Sam looks back to Adam, saying, “Don’t listen to him, it’s pretty much high school but with more pressure.”

Adam blinks, eyes darting just passed Sam to the highway, hoping the tree he saw was actually Michael. 

“I don’t even remember high school so…” he trails off. 

“How come? You’re technically only nineteen,” Cas notes, leaning forward to look over Jack. 

Adam shrugs. “And I was in the Cage for like twelve hundred years.” The bluntness in his tone takes everyone aback. “I can’t remember everything.”

Sam clears his throat. “Right, of course, so what classes—”

His voice fizzles out from Adam’s hearing, a sharp tearing sensation travels the length of his thigh. Skin forced apart, blood immediately gushes through the wound. 

Adam sucks in a breath, the sudden pain dizzying. 

Distantly, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder — instant warmth spilling into his veins that he recognises as angel grace. There’s a heartbeat, his eyes scrunching shut as pain overtakes him, that Adam thinks Michael found him. 

But, as the wave of pain starts to subside and Adam comes back to coherency, the power belongs to Jack, leaning into Adam’s space with wide eyes. 

“Adam, are you okay?” Sam asks for what feels like the millionth time today. 

Turning his head, Adam finds that they’ve pulled over to the side of the road, Sam and Cas hovering outside the open door. 

He looks at his leg, his blue jeans stained dark with blood. The warmth liquid is still ebbing through the cut and Adam can only stare at it. Confused. Frightened. 

“I can’t heal him,” he hears Jack say, his own heart aching at the desperation in the kid’s voice. 

He really doesn’t want to care this much about some nephilim. But that’s a problem for later. 

“It must be Chuck,” Sam says. He acts seemingly without thinking, without speaking, stripping himself of his red flannel shirt. Tying it tightly around Adam’s leg, stopping the blood flow, Sam works as though he’s done this a million times before. Which Adam doesn’t doubt. 

His hands are light, hesitant yet gentle as he moves swiftly. 

Once satisfied with his work, Sam sits back on the balls on his feet. “He must want to stop you from getting to Michael again.” 

“Dick,” Adam mutters. Most of the burning pain has dulled to an ache as the blood flow is stunted. 

Cas takes a step closer, looking between the still slowly growing stain of blood and Jack — thoughts and questions passing behind his eyes that he doesn’t voice. 

Instead he says, “It’s probably safe to assume this will keep happening the closer we get, right?” 

“So, what,” Dean says, the engine to the impala still running, “should we turn around? Wait for him to come?” 

“ _ No _ .” The word leaves Adam’s lips before he can stop it, harsher than he meant to come across. “Just, keep going.” 

“If you’re gonna get hurt, we—” Sam starts. 

“Take me to Michael,” Adam forces out, growing impatient having to deal with this shit. The cosmic emptiness in his chest has only grown. “He can fix this, I know he can.” 

Sam sighs, closing his mouth in defeat. He stands and mutters something to Cas that Adam can’t make out, but they both return to their seat. Silently, Dean pulls back onto the road. 

Cas stops asking questions, Jack keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eye — though keeps their legs pressed together — while Dean fiddles with the radio for anything to drown out the tension. 

Adam closes his eyes, reaching through space and time and into the depths of his own soul, using the memories and feelings of Michael like a lifeline to drag himself to shore. He reaches out and prays. Begs. Uncaring whether the message gets through to Michael or God, he’s not sure who he’s actually addressing. 

He asks for his angel back. 

—

Night has drawn faster than Adam expected, though to be fair, his grasp on time has been vastly impacted. 

Even as Adam demands that they continue for Minnesota, between Dean’s refusal to keep driving without a break and the other’s worry about the various mysterious cuts and burns that are being peppered across his body, Adam can’t win this argument. And agrees to settle at a motel for the night. 

Agitated and restless, Adam enters the bathroom to his room, the low hanging bulb making everything seem washed out and dull. 

The shower takes too long to warm up. Adam only just realised he’s never had to wait for this since leaving the Cage — such a mundane task that Michael took care of for him. 

He turns the shower water to as cold as it will go. Standing with his face being assaulted by the flow of freezing water, Adam closes his eyes, focusing on the sting of his wounds rather than the large hole Michael left. 

The water washes away the blood staining his skin, only slightly easing the lingering heat from the burns. 

His legs wobble, his arms shaking as he runs his hands through his air. 

There’s no doubt that Cas is right. In the few hours they’ve travelled, Adam’s body is littered with wounds. He’d barely been able to hold back his groans as he was cut and burned and invisibly tortured. 

As he tries to gently scrub away any blood that refuses to leave, Adam gasps. A sudden wave of dizziness takes him. Nausea creeps into his stomach. 

Unbridled, white hot  _ pain _ spreads across his chest. It grows and grows until his entire body is screaming. His legs give out, slamming against the porcelain. 

Adam’s mouth hangs open in a silent scream. 

He’s never felt anything quite like this, like his rib cage has caved in, like something is rummaging through the cavity behind like a treasure chest. 

No. 

Some _ one _ . His vision flashes. It’s dark and hot and he’s  _ scared.  _

Realisation slaps Adam, giving him just enough clarity to force in a breath. 

Hours — weeks —  _ centuries _ pass before feeling returns to the rest of his body. His mind takes a while to collect itself but urgency hurries the process. 

His legs trembling barely hold him up as he leaves the shower, stumbling to dry and dress himself before he enters back into the main room. 

Four sets of eyes, bodies hunched over a small table, dart to him. Sensing his still racing heart, Sam crosses the room to him in a few short strides. 

“What is it?” 

“I know what’s happening.” Adam hopes they don’t notice how he shifts his weight onto his least damaged leg. He remembers what comes next. “In the Cage, Michael, he healed me, but it’s all coming back now.” 

“Heal you?” Sam repeats. “Michael… tortured you?” There’s a hint of hope — longing in his eyes as he speaks. 

His attention snapping onto Sam like a hawk, Adam’s eyes narrow into sharp slits, lip curling up in disgust at the _mere_ _idea_ that Michael would ever harm him. 

“Stop making assumptions about him,” he snaps, the warmth lacking in his soul being filled with a burning rage. “When  _ you _ —” he spits the word at Sam’s feet “— were lucky enough to escape the Cage, Lucifer got bored without his toy.” 

Adam doesn’t even care that he’s drawn a thick way of awkward tension over the room. He’ll defend Michael till his last breath — but mostly, and he won’t say this out loud, he’s afraid. 

While many of his Cage memories are blurry from Michael’s work, invisible hands of nimble power undoing experiences piece by piece until they no longer remain, some stitches cannot be unwoven. The worst of the worst etched and scarred into the deepest part of his soul, so far from even Michael’s reach. 

It became easy to forget those moments where Michael couldn’t defend Adam any longer, with Michael’s grace and wings and  _ love _ holding him together. Picking up the pieces in the aftermath. 

Now, Adam will face it alone. 

“Lucifer tortured me,” Adam continues. He sees a flash of understanding in Sam’s eyes, and he only  _ slightly  _ regrets so easily losing his temper with him. “And without Michael’s healing, it’s — it’s coming back.” 

There’s a beat of silence as everyone processes his statement, the implications it holds. 

“We better hope Michael’s the answer, then,” Cas says. 

“How long have we got? Before, y’know…” Dean’s bluntness catches everyone but Adam off guard. No wonder he was meant to be Michael’s true vessel. 

Adam shrugs. “Guess we have to find out.” 

—

After a few minutes of hounding, Adam caves and allows Sam to stitch up the necessary wounds. Dean disappears for a while, returning with a small, basic first aid kit and two bottles of vodka. One for himself, one for Adam.

He and Sam retreat into the bathroom, the dull light at least better than in the main room. There’s a forced closeness as he rests on the edge of the bathtub, a tinge of blood still in the drain, and Sam crouches before him. Undressing himself when necessary to give Sam access, Adam ends up practically naked, vodka poured over his bare skin and a needle repeatedly stabbing him. 

Finding the ceiling tiles much more interesting than Sam, Adam lets himself wince and grimace with every sting of pain. He’s too tired to care about pretending he’s stronger than he is. 

“I’m sorry about, uh, you know, leaving you. With Lucifer in the Cage and all.” Sam doesn’t even look up as he works, experience keeping his hands steady. 

He hesitates. “It’s not your fault. Anyway, it wasn’t that bad. He kinda just disappeared one day, so it was mostly Michael and I.” 

“I think it’s nice that you two were able to work out an agreement, like you said.” 

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much else to do.” Adam gives a soft chuckle, remembering the early days where his stubborn angel straight up refused to even talk. 

“What did you guys even do all that time?” Sam asks, cleaning again a freshly sown wound. “You would’ve been alone for a while.” 

Sam stands back and as gently as he can, helps Adam get his stiff and sore body back into clothes. 

In between hissing as tight skin is forced to bend, Adam explains, “Once he actually started talking to me, it was mostly about anything we could think of. He told me pretty much everything about, well,  _ everything _ . He knows everything that’s ever happened and I like hearing him talk.” 

“It’s hard, for us, for me, to imagine Michael as anything other than the one we met.” Sam offers his hand to help Adam stand onto trembling legs. 

Even as Sam looms over Adam, blocking his only exit, he doesn’t feel as trapped as he should. Maybe he’s simply too tired or it’s Sam's genuine concern and interest, but Adam can feel the grudge slowly start to be chipped away. 

“I know but he’s so much more.” 

“You really like him, huh?” 

“Of course.”  _ More than like _ , Adam wants to say but this is far from the time or place for that conversation. 

“Then we’ll do whatever we can to find him again,” Sam promises.

_ He’s just trying to make you forget about what they did _ , a traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind where Michael used to lay. 

But would it really be so bad? Sure, Adam will always be angry, he didn’t deserve what happened to him, but he’s too old to keep such pain. 

Adam only nods. Sam takes the dismissal and turns, leaving the cramped bathroom. Adam takes a moment before following. Today’s been a rollercoaster and he can’t imagine dealing with this for any longer. 

Adam enters the main room just as Sam leaves — Dean’s already gone back to their room. Cas and Jack are sat on the same bed, the old TV playing an equally as old movie that Adam doesn’t recognise. 

He settles on the empty bed. The mattress is lumpy and the pillows rock hard, as yet Adam finds his eyelids slipping closed on their own accord. 

It’s strange. Adam doesn’t really sleep much anymore, Michael can mitigate any tiredness or ill effects of sleep deprivation. 

As Adam starts to drift off, he’s rudely awakened as a hushed conversation nonetheless breaks over the quiet hum of the TV. 

“Cas?” 

“Yes?” 

“When we find Michael, he’s not going to be like — like the other Michael, is he?” 

The angel doesn’t respond straight away. Adam starts to wonder whether he can tell Adam’s still awake. 

When Cas does answer, slowly, picking his words carefully, he says, “That Michael could never have cared for a human life the same way our one cares for Adam. That alone sets them apart.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Anyway, I doubt Adam would let him hurt any of us. Especially you,” Cas finishes. 

“Really?” The tremor in Jack’s voice. Adam realises they’re not so different — young but so old, experienced, scarred. Still children in the grand scheme of things. 

“Yeah, I think he likes you.” 

“Good, I like him.” 

Adam fully lets himself drift off into sleep, pain and the emptiness subsiding long enough for a dreamless slumber. 

—

Iowa sucks, Adam thinks. Granted, almost as soon as they passed the state line, Adam threw himself out the door, the impala still moving. The same black bile spills from his mouth after Jack tried healing him again. 

Sam’s hand rubs comforting circles on his back, Adam’s head in some bushes, knees in the hard dirt as the pitiful contents of his stomach — a few shots of vodka to get through this mess and a breakfast burrito from a gas station that probably would’ve made him sick anyway. 

His previous wounds and the still occurring injuries ache and scream while his stomach twists and his muscles flex. 

Eventually, he spits the last of the bile, taking the hand Sam offers. 

“Good to go?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Adam answers, taking a few deep breaths to ease the nausea. “Let’s hurry this up.” 

Sam nods, slowing his strides so he walks next to Adam, footsteps matching up. They’ve almost reached the impala again, an apology already falling from Jack’s lips, when the ground seems to meet Adam. 

Searing pain tears through his knee, radiating through his entire leg. 

Bone  _ cracks _ . 

A cry escapes his mouth. Suddenly unable to support himself, Adam goes falling forward. At the last second Sam reaches out, catching Adam. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Sam repeats the saying as he pulls Adam up, holding an arm around his waist to support him. 

Blindly letting Sam guide him, Adam finds himself being slipped into the front bench of the car next to Dean. There’s more room here, his leg can stretch out a bit rather than remain bent. Even through his blood and sweat stained pants, Adam can tell his kneecap is bent and broken in a way that shouldn’t be possible. 

“Shit, the hell happened?” Dean asks sharply. 

With his entire body tense and throbbing in pain, all Adam can manage is, “Just drive.” 

The sooner they get to Michael, the sooner this hell can be over. 

Dean, fortunately, doesn’t fire back a response and silently brings the car back onto the road. 

Iowa sucks, Adam thinks, the only thing that is able to break through the haze of pain. Rolling plains and cornfields seem to add to the constant influx of new — well, old — injuries. The throb of his knee becoming almost a background feeling. No rest is given to him. 

His stomach is bleeding, he realises distantly. Adam brings his hand to it, the limb feeling clumsy and weak, blood seeps between his pale fingers. 

Cas’ head appears from behind, a towel that was mostly definitely stolen from the motel. Adam thinks he mutters a weak “Thank you,” as he takes it. It takes all his strength to press the material against the open wound.

Adam leans his head against the back of the seat. He barely slept last night, his body hasn’t had the chance to heal, and everything fucking  _ hurts _ . 

“Hey, none of that shit.” Dean smacks Adam’s shoulder lightly, just enough to jostle him up. “You’re not dying before we get there, alright?” 

Adam might have groaned in response but he can’t really tell. He’s dizzy and so,  _ so  _ tired. 

His hand slips, blood leaks steadily from the wound. 

As oblivion starts to creep towards him, a hand overlays his — strong, calloused, and… Michael? 

Adam’s eyes shoot open, a small delirious smile spreading across his lips. 

It drops the moment he sees Dean, arm outstretched over the bench as one hand remains firm on the steering wheel and the other holds the towel against Adam’s stomach. 

“Come on, kid, make this a little easier for me, would ya?” Dean glances away from the road, eyes looking intensely into Adam’s. 

Gathering the remaining drops of his strength and biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out as his knee throbs even harder, Adam shuffles closer to Dean. The oldest Winchester mutters something under his breath but his hold remains steady. 

Adam hisses at the sudden increase of pressure but does his best to remain still. In a brief moment of clarity, he shoots Dean a questioning look — startled by the inherent softness of this situation. 

He’s still trying to process the fact he’d gotten the apology he’d longed for in those years. Truly, he hadn’t been expecting for Dean to admit to his mistakes. And now, he’s actively trying to keep Adam alive to reunite with an archangel he’s made very clear he doesn’t like. 

Dean meets Adam’s gaze. 

“Why?” Adam asks weakly. Dean doesn’t need him to expand any further. 

“Because you’re family.” Dean either doesn’t notice Adam’s scoff or doesn’t care. “And Michael would kill us if we let you die.” 

Adam huffs, the closest to a laugh he can manage. “At least you’re honest.” 

“Always, kid.”

“Pretty sure I’m older than you now.”

Dean chuckles, eyes occasionally darting from the road to look at Adam. “Yeah, I think you are. But I’m still the older brother.” 

“Whatever.” 

To his credit, Dean notices Adam’s withdrawal at the mention they’re still technically related and quickly diverts the topic. He strikes up a conversation with Sam, letting him carry it as Cas and Jack join in. 

This is better. Adam doesn’t have to talk, doesn’t have to divulge any more information about his angel, but still has something to tie him to consciousness. 

Other than a few more cuts — that are cauterised almost immediately with invisible fire — and his fingernails being torn off, the trip grows quiet. Once the bleeding from the main wound on his stomach stops bleeding, Dean pulls behind some decrepit gas station and Sam stitches him together. 

They’re still at least a day or two of solid driving away from reaching Minnesota, and then there's the problem of actually getting to the diner. Adam’s growing restless, the emptiness in his chest expanding into a cavern, hollowing his rib cage. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, in between an invisible torture session and being alone for the first time in centuries, Adam’s clueless. Hopeless. 

Left entirely in the hands of those that let him rot in Hell, a broken angel, and, as Michael described, an abomination. 

Adam’s sure that if it weren’t for the Winchester blood in him, he would’ve been thrown to the street and forced to deal with this himself. 

He never lets that part slip, though. Even then,  _ this _ feels like a bit much. After collecting supplies from a local hardware store, Dean ends up creating a splint with wooden planks and rope to keep Adam’s shattered knee straight. 

“Where the hell is he?” Dean asks. The  _ he  _ in question is Jack — he disappeared, promising to be back soon, as they made a pitstop to address the growing number of injuries Adam’s suffering. 

Cas’ eyes scan back and forth around the small town they’re stopped in. The quiet parking lot offers little protection but at least there’s no prying eyes to question the sight. 

“I’m here.” Jack appears around side Adam’s door, chipper despite the growing concerns from everyone else. 

He holds out a bundle he’s holding in his hands, letting Adam see the pile of clothes. Before he can question that, a bottle of water and pill bottle are fished from Jack’s pockets. 

Adam takes them, quickly reads the label, and shoots Jack a puzzled look. “You  _ stole  _ these.” Less of a question and more of an accusation. 

The pill bottle is snatched from his hand, Dean inspects it. 

“Jack,” Cas says, his voice flat and exhausted, “please tell me you didn’t  _ break into a hospital _ .”

“What? Adam’s in pain, I wanted to help him.” 

With the other three in stunned silence, Adam feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, kid,” he says, taking the drugs back from Dean, “this’ll do the trick.” 

He doesn’t quite recognise the name but can assume it’s the good stuff. Placing four — more than necessary — pills into his mouth, Adam takes a swing from the water. 

Jack beams and no one has the heart to tell him off. Adam certainly won’t complain. He takes a look at the clothes, a meager pair of loose sweatpants and baggy t-shirt. 

They find a public bathroom nearby, and Sam all but carries Adam to it. He at least gives Adam the privacy to change by himself — peeling off sweat and blood stained fabric that had almost been glued to his raw skin. 

Every movement makes his body scream in pain but he barely processes it. The painkillers have started to kick in. 

By the time, they’ve stocked up and are ready to keep going, relief is coursing through his veins, relaxing his body for the first time in ages. 

Like he’s flying on a cloud, Adam can’t even think straight. Simply content to watch the passing town fade in passing town, to listen to the radio humming into and out of static, the distant buzz of conversation happening around him. 

“Adam, are you feeling better?” Sam asks, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. There’s a playful bounce in his tone. 

“Hmm. Tons.” 

A laugh passes through the group that Adam shares but isn’t quite sure why. He’s even more tired than before. 

“Get some rest, kid,” someone says, though Adam can’t quite work out, already fading into, finally, a peaceful sleep. 

—

Michael’s holding him when he wakes up. 

They’re in bed, Adam’s head rests on his chest, feeling not the drum of a heartbeat but the continuous hum of power — archangel grace flowing through him. Michael’s arm is around him, pulling Adam close, protecting him. 

He keeps his eyes closed, letting out a deep breath. 

“Adam,” Michael starts, his voice low and warm. 

Burrowing his head deeper into Michael’s chest, Adam realises the warmth covering him is large wings, laid across him like a blanket. 

“Five more minutes,” Adam grumbles. 

“Adam,” the angel repeats, firmer, urgency leaning into his voice. “You’re not asleep.” 

“I can tell.”

“No, Adam, look at me.” 

With a moan, Adam manoeuvres himself so he rests on his elbow, looking up at Michael. He blinks owlishly at the man peering down. Thick, dark hair curls past a tanned man’s bulky shoulders, narrow brown eyes watch every flutter of Adam’s lips as he struggles to work out what to say. 

“Michael, what’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, I — I don’t have long. My grace, it’s weak and this vessel will only last for so long. I’ve been trying to reach you. I can — I’ve felt  _ all _ your pain, I can hear you screaming. And I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t—”

“ _ Michael _ .” Adam shoots up, one hand immediately coming to cup Michael’s new face, uncaring who this stranger was. It’s still his angel. “It’s okay. You’re here now, I’m fine.” 

Michael’s hand flutters to hold onto Adam’s wrist like a lifeline, fingers sitting over his pulse. He feels it for a moment, as if reminding himself that Adam’s alive. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not okay. This isn’t  _ real _ . You’re under attack from a djinn.” 

“A what?”

“Ask your brothers. It should be dead by now, I can wake you up soon.” 

“Wait,” Adam says, hand dropping into his lap, “if you can do this, why not just teleport here? Why haven’t you answered my prayers?” 

Michael’s dark eyes dart back and forth, searching for something in Adam’s face — it feels foreign to no longer hear Michael’s thoughts next to his own. 

“You prayed to me?” he asks, almost breathless. 

Confused, Adam says, “Of course. You’re all I have. Now answer my fucking question.” 

Michael gives a small laugh. “I miss you. And when my father separated us, he took my strength. I can only do so much, I’m sorry.”

Adam shakes his head. “It’s not your fault,” he assures, “just, find me. You know where I’m going.” 

“I’ll be waiting. Now, you need to wake up, my love.” 

Adam leans in, Michael’s wings naturally enveloping him, holding him in warmth and gentleness.

The second their lips brush against one another — the first time in separate bodies — Adam’s eyes snap open, a breath forcing itself into his lungs as he bolts upright. 

In a matter of moments Adam takes quick stock of his surroundings. 

He’s in yet another rundown motel room — the cheapest one possible it seems — likely thrown unceremoniously thrown onto the sole bed. From his position, he can see a tattooed body, silver knife sticking from its back as it lays dead on the floor. 

Cas hovers by the window, peering out the curtain. Jack and Sam stand near the body, backs to Adam, heads leaned down in hushed whispers. He hears running water shut off, a second later Dean appears from the bathroom. 

He stops short when he meets Adam’s gaze. 

“Well,” Dean says, “that’s one less problem. Morning, sleeping beauty.” 

At that, everyone whips their attention onto Dean, then it bounces to Adam, all with the same puzzled look on their faces. 

“How?” Cas asks, coming closer. 

Looking at the empty space next to him, a dull ache in his heart growing larger at the memory of Michael holding him so close, Adam resists the urge to lay back down and hope Michael turns up again. 

“Michael… he — he was here.” Adam pushes himself from the bed, standing on two stable legs. He takes a breath, looking down. Even as his knee remains stiff in the splint, there’s no pain, not even a lingering throb. “He healed me?” 

“Good,” Dean says, stepping over the corpse to take Cas’ place watching out the window, “you can help us with this pile of shit.” 

“What happened? How’d a djinn manage to get past four of you?” Adam nudges the djinn body with his foot, both taking advantage of the lack of pain and checking that it’s fully dead. 

He makes a mental note to find out what a djinn actually is. 

“Our bad for thinking you’d be safe passed out here,” answers Dean, but the lack of any bite in his tone betrays his forced annoyance. 

Sam shoots him a look, gaze softening when it lands back onto Adam. “We heard about some weird disappearances while you were out, and ended up taking out a vampire’s nest. Came back to him” — he points to the corpse — “and well, you can see.” 

“Can’t be a coincidence, can it?” Adam asks quietly. 

Cas sighs. “No.” 

“We should keep moving, then. If we hang around for too long, we’re making ourselves a target.” 

“He’s right,” Dean says. 

“You and Sam need sleep,” Jack interjects. “You’re barely standing.” 

Dean doesn’t respond, knowing the kid’s right. There’s no fight in Sam either, exhaustion slumping his shoulders forward, bags as dark as bruises forming under his eyes. No physical injuries on them, Adam notes, even after supposedly fighting some vampires. 

Jack’s powers must be working for them. Great. 

“Jack and I can keep watch. The last thing we need is you passing out.” Cas’ tone leaves little room for argument. 

“Adam?” Sam asks. “It’s really up to you.” 

Adam hesitates. After seeing and being healed by Michael, he’s felt better than he has in a while, like he could run for miles without breaking a sweat. And his need to find Michael has only been increased, a fire fueled into a raging inferno. 

But he can see a sway in Sam’s stature, noticing the way Dean’s eyes don’t quite focus onto anything. He knows he’s only made it this far because of them, and he won’t get any further alone. 

“Why not both?” Adam says at last, earning confused glances. “You two sleep while someone else drives.”

“No way, no one drives my car,” Dean tries to protest.

Only for Jack to comment, “You let me drive it.” 

“That — that was different. You were dying.” 

“I’m probably dying.” Adam shrugs. 

After a beat of silence, Dean gives up. “Fine but Cas is driving.” 

A spark of humor flashes over the angel’s eyes as he says, “Let Jack drive. It’ll show if you’re a good teacher or not.” 

As Dean goes to respond, Sam cuts him off. “What? Are you saying you’re  _ not  _ a good teacher?” 

“I — uh, shut up.” Dean fishes the keys to the impala from his pocket and throws them to Jack. 

And so they pile into the car — a djinn corpse in the trunk — and pull out from the motel in the dead of night. Adam watches Jack’s cautious and thoughtful moves, as does Dean from the back. 

But, much to everyone’s relief, the car doesn’t even stall once and Jack is surprisingly a good driver. Eventually, after tangling their legs together in a fight for space, the brothers pass out on top of each other, light snores coming from each. When Adam looks, Cas doesn’t seem to mind how Sam is invading his space — instead the angel offers occasional words of encouragement and support. 

The night and Jack drives on, and whatever power Michael used on him seems to hold off any more invisible injuries. 

As Adam relaxes, the light conversation keeping him content, he can help but think about how, just days before, he didn’t want anything to do with this ragtag group. Now, he’s not so sure. 

Family sucks but this little family, well, it could be worse. 

—

“Hey, Adam?”

“Yeah?”

Jack’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, gaze seemingly afraid to meet Adam’s. “What’s your Michael like?”

“He’s — he’s different from when we first met. He was a dick, don’t ever tell him I said that, but I think it’s cause he didn’t know any different.

“But he changed? While you were in the Cage?” Jack guesses, a tremor in his voice over the last word. 

“Once Lucifer left, yeah.” 

Adam remembers that day — point in time? — clearly, refusing to let Michael erase it. The sheer relief that flooded them both, the torture and fighting finally ending. Neither giving a piece of mind to the repercussions Lucifer’s return to Earth would have. At that point, they were doomed for eternity. 

Adam continues, “It took a good few decades to get him to open up, though. Millennia of loyalty can’t just go away like that. But now, he’s just — he’s Michael. He’s protective and kind and he actually really cares about a lot of things.”

“And you’re sure he’ll be waiting for us in Minnesota?” 

“There’s nothing that can stop him from getting back to me.” 

Jack hesitates for a breath, checking on Cas in the back who was pretending not to listen. “He must really love you.”

Adam’s breath catches in his throat. Hearing for the first time someone else use the word  _ love _ to describe their relationship seems strange. But at least he doesn’t have to say it himself. 

“Yeah. I love him, too,” Adam says. “It’s why I need to find him.”

In response, Jack’s foot presses harder on the accelerator. Adam has to wonder whether the nephilim understands the depth of the love he’s talking about. 

“Can I ask you something, Jack? And don’t lie to me.”

“Okay.” 

“Sam and Dean — did they ever, you know, mention me? Before I showed up again?”

Jack’s silence is loud enough. “No. They, uh, had a lot of explaining when you turned up in the war room. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I… You’re more of a Winchester than I am, I’m not surprised.” 

“Still. They should’ve cared more.”

Adam sighs. “Maybe so but it doesn’t matter now. I have Michael.”

“And me,” Jack says, finally meeting Adam’s eyes, the utmost sincerity in his voice. “I want to be your family.”

Jack’s face shines, youth and optimism forcing its way through despite the horrors he must have faced. He reminds Adam so much of himself, way back then — still a kid, still has so much in front of him only to be fucked over. 

Adam nods, letting a small smile spread across his lips. “Family’s complicated, kid.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

“Guess we’re family then.”

—

Adam might feel a touch of worry as they pass the Minnesota state line, attention has never proven wise, if it weren’t for the throbbing,  _ burning  _ pain that tears the length of his spine. 

His screams, animalistic and gut wrenching, are more than enough to wake Sam and Dean. The brothers flinch to attention, though already Jack has pulled over. Writhing in his seat as if he could escape this, Adam can only hear a ringing in his ears, his own cries overpowering every sense. 

A slit opens his back, blood streaming from the wound immediately. 

He can’t breathe, he can’t think, speak, he can’t even cry. The world fades to a blur, undiluted pain becomes the only thing he knows. 

Everything’s crushing him. The weight of the world sits on his back. The Cage walls trapping him, a prisoner, an  _ innocent prisoner _ , he needs Michael. Michael was always there, his wings to encase him, grace to ease the pain. 

But he’s  _ gone _ . And Adam’s alone, screaming, begging for release from this hell. All he needs is his angel. 

His skin is pulled apart by invisible, forceful hands he knows once belonged to the Devil himself. 

_ Make it stop.  _

He might have screamed it, might have thought it, Adam can’t tell anymore. Time escapes him, reality refusing to remain between his fingertips. 

Blood streams freely onto the leather behind him. Sticky and warm, and it’s all Adam has to grasp onto the present. He clutches to it, as if this sole feeling can bring him what he wants. 

He doesn’t care. He forces the pain to become a background feeling, forces coherent thought into his mind. Sight into his eyes. Hearing into his ears. 

“— we do? He’s bleeding out.”

Sam’s, maybe Cas’ — he can’t really tell — voice breaks through the resounding pain. He  _ grips  _ it, and nothing can force him to let go, not even God. 

“It’s — it’s f-fine,” Adam chokes out. “I’m fine.”

He finds that he’s curled in on himself, facing Jack, whose face is twisted in pain and fear. 

“Keep driving.” The intensity in his voice scares even Adam. But it barely takes a heartbeat for Jack to bring the impala back to life and the wheels speed through some irrelevant Minnesota streets. 

“Adam,” Sam says, leaning over the back seat, “we need to stop. You’re hurt.”

“I’m always hurt. Drive, Jack.”

He sucks in a shaky breath, trying to calm his heaving chest.  _ He’s fine _ . He’s been through this once before, Michael’s handiwork being unwoven as flashes from the Cage return in tandem with waves of pain down his spine. 

Adam distantly becomes aware of an argument happening around him. Harsh voices fighting for dominance. 

Adam tries to sit up, only for another wave of agony to wash over him. A tight whimper escapes him. 

“Please. We’re so close.” His voice is hoarse from screaming, barely above a whisper, yet it’s enough to draw every pair of eyes onto him. “Michael, I need…”

Fingers brush lightly across his shoulder, an attempt to be comforting. Sam peers down at him and Adam’s never quite felt this way before — young, fragile. Like a little brother. 

“Adam,” he says gently, “if we keep pushing, you’ll be dead long before we can find Michael.” 

“No.” It’s more of a sob than anything else. “I’ll be fine. Just—”

He never finishes the sentence. 

Skin and muscles are, without care, thrust open, an invisible force moving —  _ fucking moving through him _ . Pinching and clawing an open path to his spine. 

He remembers, god, he remembers this. Splayed open for Lucifer’s amusement, screaming until his voice box tears itself apart. 

Adam can’t tell whether the raw agony is a memory or reality. 

In a moment of unbridled dread, Adam reaches out, fingers latching onto the first warm thing he can find. A soft hand curls around his own. 

It’s enough. 

One after another, open on display, the very vertebrae of his spine crack and splintered under the Devil’s —  _ God’s _ pressure. 

Begging for death, for this cruelty to end, Adam is  _ finally _ granted a respite — one never given in the Cage — and he falls into unconsciousness. 

—

Michael watches the diner door with an intensity he’s never felt before. In all of eternity, there are many things he’s never experienced, and so there’s no word to explain what he’s feeling. Something so disgustingly human. 

Adam would know — he would laugh that something so mundane could be undoing heaven’s mightiest warrior. But he would ease the tension overtaking his body, and would force his fists to uncurl. 

His hands in Michael’s hair, tracing the outline of his jaw, running through his feathered wings. 

It’s strange, how effortlessly some small, young human has changed the stoic and loyal archangel into a scared mess. 

That’s it, isn’t it? Michael’s scared. The final use of his depleted grace showed him everything that’s happened to Adam, the pain, the torture that Michael could heal. But he couldn’t stop it forever. 

What if it became too much? What if it killed Adam? 

Michael will have nothing. No heaven. No God. Nothing. 

This new vessel feels wrong, too unfamiliar for him to remain in it for much longer. While Michael will  _ never _ trust the Winchester’s, something — probably Adam’s leftover influence — tells him that they’ll bring the kid as far as they can. 

They owe Adam that much. 

Michael starts to hum, a song Adam vaguely remembers from his childhood that became stuck in their head until Michael learned it. He can pretend it’s Adam singing it to him, that there is no missing warmth in this cold vessel. 

It — he — was the first person Michael saw after being expelled from Adam’s body. It didn’t take much to convince him to allow Michael access. But he’s more than happy to ditch the vessel the first moment he can. 

Michael freezes — he view to the outside parking lot is suddenly obscured as a black impala pulls up. The Winchester’s, suspicious gazes and tense bodies, pile out, intent on entering the diner. Only, Michael meets them outside before they even have a chance. 

It doesn’t take long for them to recognise him. Dean’s constantly annoyed face darkening the moment they make eye contact. 

“Where is he?” Michael demands. He checks the car, noting the empty backseat. 

Sam, the more diplomatic of the brothers, steps forward. “He — he’s alive. Cas and Jack are with him. It’s bad, Michael, really bad.”

His heart drops and if he were any more human, he might throw up. Forcing himself to remain calm, he spits out, “Then let's go.”

Michael moves for the car before either Winchester does, promptly settling into the passenger seat. It earns a wary glance from the brothers but Michael doesn’t care. 

Adam’s so close, Michael can practically feel him. His embrace. Can see those gentle eyes. 

Eventually, with Sam sliding into the back, Dean brings the impala to life and they pull away from the diner. 

They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes, tension building and building. Michael looks from the corner of his eye at his once intended vessel — wondering what would have happened if everything went according to the plan. 

If Michael never met Adam. 

Dean catches his gaze. “What?” 

“How bad is he?” Michael hadn’t meant to ask it but found that’s all he can really focus on, trying to prepare himself for what’s become of his human. 

Neither Winchester answers for a moment. 

Sam answers, “He was still passed out when we left. But, uh, it’s a lot. You’ll understand when you see him.” 

“Can you even heal him?” Dean asks bluntly. “You look like shit, no offence.” 

Resisting the urge to smite him — saving what little grace he still has — Michael simply shoots him a look. “I’m not at full strength but it’s enough. Adam will be fine.” He pauses for a breath, taking in the rolling town passing around him. “Is he safe, where he is?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “Cas and Jack, they’re holed up in a motel, just making sure no one bothers them.” 

Michael nods. The gnawing utterly human feeling has increased tenfold — how can anyone deal with this? His whole body has locked into place, he wants to run, wants to cry, wants to fight. 

Mostly he just wants Adam. 

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” he snaps, growing agitated despite the fact he’s closer to his human than he has been in days. 

Dean doesn’t answer him, gaze narrowed on the road. After a tense few moments of Michael glaring daggers into the side of his face, Dean decides to bless him with his needed commentary. 

“This agreement you and Adam came to in the Cage,” he starts — Michael groans inwardly. “What does it actually entail?”

“Dean,” Sam warns softly. 

“It’s a fair question. You two are weirdly close. Adam didn’t even care that he was bleeding out, he just wanted to get to you.” 

Michael starts to wonder whether he has enough grace to teleport to Adam and heal him — anything to not be in this car anymore with the Winchesters. 

But he can’t risk it. The things he does for Adam. 

“Is our relationship any of your concern?” he says, far too defensively. 

“Last time I checked, Adam’s my brother. That makes it my concern.”

Michael sighs. “I care deeply for your brother. I won’t hurt him, if that’s what you're worried about. Does that satisfy you?” 

Dean grunts in response. 

Happy to be free of the insistent questions, Michael falls into silence, eyes glued on the passing various stores and buildings of this small Minnesota town. 

When the car starts to slow, Michael almost snaps at Dean again, only to realise this backstreet, definitely disease ridden building is the motel his Adam is in. 

Thoughts are passing too quickly through his mind for him to properly process them. 

Michael’s out of the car before it’s rolled to a stop. He doesn’t wait for the Winchesters, not needing to be pointed in the right direction. He can feel Adam, hear his body and soul  _ screaming  _ out for Michael. 

Praying for him. 

He throws himself through the motel door, almost tripping over the threshold as around him Castiel and the nephilim leap to their feet. Eyes drawn to him. 

But all Michael can see is Adam, laid across a single bed. A pool of blood stains the blankets under him. 

His chest scarcely moves. Sluggish breaths emit a soft wheeze. 

His eyes remain open, though glassy and unseeing, and he makes no move to show he knows Michael has arrived. 

Michael’s legs tremble as he walks. Adam’s cries, his begs are going unheard, mouth unable to move, body unable to fight against the invisible force that’s torturing him. Paralysed in the face of death. His heartbeat is slow, too slow, too close to the brink. 

For a beat, they’re back in the Cage — and Michael is useless, forced to watch. 

But they’re not there anymore and Michael still has his grace. If he were a minute longer, Adam would’ve been gone. He knows it not to be a kind act of God, merely a stroke of good luck that Michael won’t question. 

He’s good at that. Blindly accepting. 

Michael knees at the edge of the bed, taking Adam’s cold, unresponsive hand into his. 

“It’s okay, my love,” he whispers, their faces less than an inch away. Adam’s eyes flash quickly with recognition, the only tell that his human is still in there. “I’m here.” 

He rests their foreheads together — tears prickling the corners of his eyes. Michael reaches out for that familiar warmth that is Adam, meeting his soul with the same question he asked all those years ago. 

_ Yes _ is the immediate response. 

The glow of his grace fills his sight, the world spinning faster and slowing to a standstill at the same time, and when the glow fades, Michael is looking up at the motel ceiling. 

With a flick of his power, every wound and scar on their body fades. Feeling returns to their limbs once again, and Michael sits up. 

Adam is on the bed next to him, his smile tired yet bright, eyes still brimmed with pain from the violence he experienced. 

“You found me,” Adam says, breathless.

“Did you ever doubt I would?” 

“Not even for a second.” 

“Rest now, love, you deserve it.” 

Adam nods. In a blink, he’s gone — similar to those first few moments of them sharing a body. Where Adam had no say, Michael the sole pilot. Though, this time it’s peaceful. Adam’s not trapped, sleeping, in a way. 

Michael stands in his vessel — his  _ real  _ vessel, maybe not the sword he was promised but the one he wants. Needs. 

His attention lands on his previous vessel, just barely coming to consciousness. Feeling a sense of pity and remorse for dragging him into this, Michael, using his newly rejuvenated grace, returns him to where Michael found him. Memory wiped, he’ll think this was all a weird dream. 

Finally, he meets each gaze that’s firmly planted on him — wary eyes and tense bodies watching his each movement. 

“Thank you,” Michael says begrudgingly, “for all your help.” 

“It’s the least we could do,” Sam says. 

“Yes, it is. You owe Adam a lot.” 

“Is he gonna be okay?” the nephilim asks. He looks at Michael with the most nervous energy of the lot, torn between respectfully making eye contact and fearfully looking away. 

Michael doesn’t quite know what to make of him. It’s been drilled into his skull that nephilim’s are abominations, too powerful to exist. But that’s simply what his father told him — and so many other things have been a lie. 

He knows Adam has grown to care for him. 

“Adam’s fine, he’s sleeping now,” Michael assures him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather be…  _ any _ where but here.” 

“Wait, you can’t leave now.” Castiel steps forward, hand outstretched as though he might grab onto the archangel. 

Michael shoots him a look, daring him to try, to touch Adam with any kind of force. Castiel drops his hand, still looking at him with pleading eyes. 

“We could use your help in all this,” he finishes. 

“Yeah, you and father. I’m tired of fighting, Castiel,” Michael admits. “I want no part in this.” 

“What will you do now, then?” Sam asks. 

He sighs, an image of Adam’s dorm room coming to mind, the pile of textbooks on the desk serving as a reminder that he’s already behind. 

Michael looks at each of the Winchester family — he can only assume the role they’re expecting him to fill will come down to killing, or at the very least trapping, his father. He knows what kind of threat God poses and for a moment, he’s tempted to join them. 

To seek revenge for what he’d done to Adam. For trying to hurt him, to keep them apart. 

But he can’t. Fighting a war would mean putting Adam on the back burner, away from the violence that Michael’s all too familiar with. For all of eternity, Michael’s sole purpose was to fight in place of God, to be his weapon. 

Now, he wants more than that. He  _ wants _ something for himself, for the first time. He won’t give that up, not for anything. 

He wants Adam. 

“We’re going to college.” 


End file.
